


Your Love Won’t Pay My Bills

by kathrynboleyn



Category: Knives Out (2019), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I was corralled into doing this, I’ll figure it out later, KNIVES OUT SPOILERS, Knives Out (2019) Spoilers, Postgrad!Darcy Lewis, Ransom is not a good person, as a treat, coffee shop AU, don’t at me, eat the rich, we can have little a bad boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrynboleyn/pseuds/kathrynboleyn
Summary: Bad men in nice sweaters are real good at getting under Darcy Lewis’ skin and into her feelings.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Hugh Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	1. Like, Ariana?

“Eat shit!” 

“Excuse me?!” Darcy Lewis wrenches her headphones off and turns to the subway passenger on her right. Sure, she’s used to colourful language this side of 08:00am, but usually it’s her own expletives directed at her phone alarm clock. The subway train to campus is on time, for once, and the New York drizzle didn’t muss up her hair too much. Up until now, today had been looking pretty good. 

“Not _you_ ,” the culprit rolls his eyes. “This jackass!” He jabs a thumb to the equally disgusted passenger next to him. The guy being advised to ingest fecal matter huffs, grabs his rucksack, and pushes through the crowded car to put some distance between the pair. Darcy has apparently missed the interesting half of their altercation, but she’s willing to guess it has something to do with the e-cigarette being puffed in her face. 

“Are you allowed to smoke those things on here?” She quirks an eyebrow. The train rattles to a halt at the next stop, but she doesn’t get off here.

“Ok, now _you_ eat shit.” The blond rolls his eyes and stands up, smoothing down his cream sweater as if worried Darcy’s mere presence has creased the fucking thing.

Naturally, Darcy’s comeback materialises about six seconds after he disappears onto the platform and out of her life. Whatever. She’s running on about four hours of terrible sleep and Jane left the milk out again, giving her the delightful choice of congealed coffee or no coffee. 

As the doors slide closed for the train to depart, she remembers there’s a new coffee shop on this side of campus. Or at least, new to her: she never ventured far from the Arts and Sciences building during her first few years of study, but last week Jane dragged her to a pre-Semester postgrad mixer held in the Business and Economics building. Darcy had vowed not to darken that doorway again - are other academics always that dull? She’s not that dull though, right. Right? - but facing a seminar on the FDR’s criminal justice policy without a hazelnut latte cannot, and will not, be countenanced. It’s only a short walk from her stop, according to Google Maps.

Twenty minutes and some miles later, Darcy Lewis is wondering if Jane’s boyfriend can get Google Maps shut down for misrepresentation, defamation, and maybe perjury. He works in the government, for the government, for a government. Something like that. She forgot to listen when he told her, and to be honest Jane’s boyfriend’s career is not actually relevant to her fucking plan to obliterate the evil, lying Google Maps from the planet. How can one fucking campus be this fucking big? She was right next to the mystery coffee shop not two weeks ago for the stupid mixer. Has it disappeared since then? Did it ever exist? Was Empire State University entirely a hallucination? Darcy turns on her heel, ready to give up and hike back to the subway station when - oh. There it is. 

Wrinkling her nose sheepishly, Darcy pushes open the door. The seminar started already, but she’d rather die than be decaffeinated by this point. It’d be like reaching the top of Everest without taking a selfie. 

The line isn’t huge, but it is slow. She pushes away the temptation to cut and run, which is quite easy now she’s made her latte comparable to summiting the world’s tallest mountain. The patron behind her mutters something about incompetence. Darcy purses her lips; she’s worked in food service before, at TripAdvisor’s least recommended diner in northwest Pennsylvania. She’s not about to let some shitty, entitled customer take out his frustration on an underpaid, overworked service - “Hey! Eat Shit guy!” She steps up to the kiosk with a grin that could be, confidently and with all the irony in the world, be called ‘shit eating’. He’s wearing a black apron over his sweater, with a name tag reading ‘RANSOM’. For half a second his expression is priceless - the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but an unimpressed frown quickly replaces it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugs. 

“I’m sure,” she snorts. Unfortunately, she’s in too much of a rush to enjoy this properly, and predictably, the comeback from earlier has already disappeared from her brain and been replaced by her scheme to bring down Google Maps. “Please can I get a hazelnut latte? Medium to-go?” 

“You mean a grande?” Ransom retorts, brandishing a Sharpie marker in one hand and paper cup in the other. 

Darcy has no idea what smothers the urge to repeat what he said in a ridiculous voice, but she’s grateful for it. “A grande hazelnut latte,” she manages through gritted teeth. “To go. Please.” 

“Any food with that?” Ransom meets her eyes, chin tilted a little to the left.

“No. Thank you.”

“And do you have our rewards app?” 

“Huh?”

“It’s an app, with rewards on it.”

“I - no, I don’t have it.”

“Would you like a leaflet with more information about it?” 

“I would not.” 

“So just the coffee.”

“Just the coffee.”

“And can I take a name?”

Resisting the urge to take the Sharpie marker and impale his eye with it, she takes a breath. “Darcy.”

“And is that spelled the ballet dancer or the guy from the book?”

“They’re spelled the same way!” 

“Which way is that, again?” 

“Just give her the fucking cup!” She chokes. Without thinking she wrenches the paper cup from his hand and tosses it towards the barista making up drinks. It bounces off the counter and on to the floor. 

“Well, using that is against hygiene regulations, let me just open a new sleeve of cups - we’re out.” 

“FORGET THE DAMN COFFEE!” She snaps. “ARGH!” Shoving her phone back in her purse, she whips around and marches from the shop. As the door slams, she can hear Ransom laugh.


	2. It’s a Game of Give and Take

Jane was less sympathetic than hoped when Darcy related her tale of woe over lunch.

“He was just winding you up, you know what New Yorkers are like.” 

“Okay, can you quit with that?” Darcy waves her fork accusingly. 

“Quit what?” 

“Acting like you’re not a ‘New Yorker’ now, you’ve lived here since you graduated from Culver! You’re one of us!”

“Us? You’re from Pennsylvania!” Jane replied through a mouthful of undercooked pasta. 

“Pfft, I’m grouchier than anyone in this city. I fit in just fine.”

“At least you don’t have to see him again,” Jane offered. “Just avoid that particular coffee shop, and it’ll be like it never happened.” 

Darcy nods; “Let’s just pretend it never did.” 

***

The next morning goes a lot better. Fresh milk for her coffee, a couple of new podcasts to listen to, the weather’s even a little brighter. Not bright enough for Darcy to walk to campus, obviously. Her backpack’s all ergonomic and stress-tested, but it’s also about eight years old and full of textbooks on McCarthyism. She’ll skip the cardio for today, the subway will have to do.

Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea. The station is packed, along with the train itself. Darcy only just makes it onto the carriage in time, so she’s busy recovering from her almost-jog across the platform when a familiar drawl pierces her good mood:

“There’s plenty of seats! I’m not moving my stuff - find somewhere else.” 

If she had any sense, Darcy would locate the direction of the voice and head directly opposite. Apparently, Darcy has very little sense. She turns to find her favorite barista butting heads once more with a fellow commuter. 

“Sorry, sir - he’s saving me a seat,” she cuts in, beaming at the disgruntled passenger. “Thanks, _babe_ ,” she pastes on a sickening smile just for Ransom. 

“I - whatever,” he rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything as Darcy removes his messenger bag from the adjacent seat and sits down. 

“Figured it’s the least you owed me after yesterday,” she points out.

“What happened yesterday?” He frowns, but his eyes have an infuriatingly playful sparkle. “I know you?” 

“Sure you do, I’m Ms Customer’s Always Right, and you’re Employee of the Year.”

Ransom shakes his head; “Not ringing any bells.” 

“The subway, then - you had that dumb vape thing, you told me to eat shit - remember?” 

He takes a drag from the e-cigarette in his hand and blows the mist gently into her face. “Must have been someone else; I don’t even vape.” 

“You - you’re an asshole, you know that?” Darcy hisses, incandescent rage billowing up into her chest. “You ruined my morning yesterday, and now you’re ruining my morning today.” 

“Hold on - weren’t _you_ the one who sat next to _me_?” Ransom shrugs, grinning. “Just saying.” 

“I - I give up,” She folds her arms as he stands for his stop. “Y’know, I hope you have - have a shitty day!” 

Ransom laughs, one hand on the metal pole to steady himself as the train grinds to a halt. “Right back at ya, dollface.” He steps off the train and begins to walk down the platform. Once he’s parallel with Darcy’s seat, he bangs once, loudly, on the window next to her. She turns, glowering. “Hazelnut latte, right? It’ll be on the counter. _Darcy_.” She can smell the dissipating smug as he struts towards the subway exit. Or maybe just his cologne. Whatever. 

***

Darcy goes straight to the Arts and Sciences building when she gets off the subway. She shares an office with three other postgrad students, but it’s empty when she arrives, giving her ample opportunity to scream into her own fist. What’s wrong with her? No - what’s wrong with him? A perfect stranger - well, not perfect, he’s an asshole - his hair is pretty perfect, though, and she could probably cut diamonds with that jawline but - but no! He’s a dick! A total piece of shit, and she’d be better off forgetting he ever existed. 

There’s a small TV in the corner, liberated from one of the faculty recreation rooms, whom in turn liberated a better TV from the Dean when he got a better one for his own office. God bless trickle-down economics ( _Author’s note: do not bless it_ ). Darcy switches it on for some background noise while she sets up for the day. 

“...regarding medical claims for some of Flam’s products. The self-titled ‘lifestyle guru’ has been no stranger to controversy: Ms Thrombey’s late father-in-law, the renowned author Harlan Thrombey, was murdered three years ago by his own grandson, Hugh Drysdale in an attempt to frame Thrombey’s own nurse, Martina Cabrera...” 

The rest of the report barely registers to Darcy - she catches odd bits; “plea deal”, “good behaviour”, “state’s evidence”, but the rest is pretty much a blur. 

It only takes a few minutes of good quality googling for Darcy’s breathing to become shallow. The news report has moved on to discussing Flam’s various lawsuits, snake oils, and cure-alls, but Darcy’s out the door and almost-jogging to the dreaded Business and Economics building on campus. She’s got a hazelnut latte to cash in.


	3. Think You’re So Criminal

“Aaah, Madame Nwa-sette herself. What can I do you for?” 

Darcy had a whole plan. Or several plans, actually. She rehearsed all the way across campus, which took way less time than expected - was she jogging? She hopes she wasn’t jogging. It’s moot anyway, because all her lines disappear the second she hears him massacre the French for hazelnut. It’s quiet in the shop, the morning rush is over. And well, it all just comes tumbling out. 

“You’re Hugh Thrombey - Hugh Drysdale, I mean. That guy - that guy was your dad! Grand-dad! The murder guy! Guy who was -” Ransom grabs her arm and tugs sharply, so the counter smacks into her stomach. She barely feels it.

“Wanna keep it down, Nancy Drew?” He hisses. “Not that it’s any of your business, not that it’s even true, but how the fuck do you know?” 

Darcy snorts, pulling back. “I know people, you know. Like, government people. Ambassadorial… Ambassadors.”

Ransom pulls a face; “Can’t kid a kidder, doll.”

“Fine, I saw it on TV,” She shrugs. “I saw your mugshot, I have google - you didn’t even pick a new name, genius, everyone knows you go by” - Darcy brings out the mid-2000s air quotes - ‘Ransom’.”

A look flashes across Ransom’s face that suggests the use of an alias went completely unconsidered until now. “Why would - whose ‘everyone’?” 

“Like, true crime forums. Y’know, desktop detectives? Weirdos.” 

“Like you?” 

“Hey, I just wanted to know if I shared a commute with a criminal!” Darcy hisses the last word, leaning forward across the counter. 

“Well, now you know! Take a later train, see if I care!” 

“What? Why would you care?” 

“I wouldn’t - that’s why I said ‘see if I care’. It’s a figure of speech.” 

Miraculously, Darcy bites back the retort ‘ _You’re a figure of speech_ ’ and Ransom continues: “I did my time, okay? I served my sentence, and now I’m an upstanding member of society.” 

Darcy quirks an eyebrow and puts one hand on her hip. “You got out after two years on a technicality. And now you argue with strangers on subway trains!” 

“Is that why you’re here? Because I was clearly arguing with a different stranger; you’re the one who chose to get involved.” 

He’s got a point. Darcy didn’t have to say jack shit, she could have gone on with her life and kept this entire saga quiet. “Well, maybe, but -”

“Everything alright?” An owlish woman pokes her head out of what Darcy assumes is the stock room - she can’t be older than 19, 20 tops.

“Just fine, Molly!” Ransom flashes on a smile so sickly-sweet Darcy’s teeth hurt. “Uh, have got any more of those raspberry cheesecake muffins?” 

Molly nods, disappearing behind the door. “Just a sec!”

“Get your ass out of here, Hazelnut Latte,” Ransom snaps, “And keep your mouth shut.” 

Darcy rolls her eyes and folds her arms. “Fine! But I want one of those muffins, you hear me?” 

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?” 

“What? No! I just really like those muffins, quit being dramatic.” She doesn’t wait to hear his answer about her raspberry cheesecake hush money, instead grabbing her backpack and disappearing out the door. 

Darcy isn’t entirely sure where that burst of... bravado came from. She wasn’t blackmailing him though. Was she? Fuck, she  
thinks, what are you supposed to do in this situation? Is there a wiki-how for this? And why is she even getting involved? It’s so... messy. Darcy doesn’t do messy. Well, not anymore. Or at least not from today. No-Mess Darcy begins right now, she tells herself. Or at least, once she collects her muffin. 

_Revealing that someone committed a crime, in their workplace, is generally regarded as snitch behaviour. Feel free to hate on Darcy for that. But also, we saw the movie. Ransom’s a straight up dirtbag. Don’t feel too sorry for the sucker._

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is subject to change, but is currently inspired by Barrett Strong's 'Money (That's What I want)'.


End file.
